Today I have little to say
about my life... and maybe a lot of pictures to paint. Pictures that
come to my head, to my mind and wait for me to choose, to decide...
they await their time. Some of them will never be chosen. And... maybe their time will come.

I often ask myself why I paint, why I have such a need... I have some answers for myself...

A picture is created, someone notices it, looks at it... You look at it, you react, you like it or not
And here it doesn't matter whether you like it or you don't like it - but WHY...
What association, feature, emotion, memory, dream caused your reaction?
What resonated, what moved? What is in you, that made you fix your eyes
on this picture (any other object or phenomenon...), focus your
attention for a while, longer or shorter...?

Isn't seeing yourself in it more interesting than a curriculum of the author (more or less similar to yours)?
I was born, I died or I will die. I lived somewhere, I moved, I studied, I worked... a family, friends. Sounds familiar?

there are my older works, there are texts written in the time when I
thought someone would find them interesting.
The Essence of my life will be a mystery, and the rest is just the same
as for everyone, but if you look carefully you can reveal this
secret... for yourself...